


draw a white chalk baphomet

by any_open_eye



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Negotiations, Power Dynamics, weird beholding nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-28 20:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20069800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/any_open_eye/pseuds/any_open_eye
Summary: That’s when it occurs to him that Elias has failed to ask him where he lives. He wouldn’t put it past him to know all of their addresses by heart, but they aren’t anywhere near Martin’s neighborhood. In fact—he has no idea where they are. He tries to hide his fear, but he’s no good at concealing his emotions at the best of times. His breathing elevates and his hands shake."Relax, Martin. If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you at the Institute."(Elias gives Martin a lift, and then gives him something else.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i do want good things for martin blackwood, i promise. but i still wrote this. 
> 
> set some time in season 3 before shit really pops off.

Fancying your boss is perfectly normal. 

A little tacky, perhaps, a little-played out, but not anything to lose sleep over. Martin used to get crushes on teachers, coaches, and—on one absolutely miserable occasion—on his best friend’s dad. 

Perfectly normal. As if anything at the Institute ever could be. 

It should have occurred to him that his feelings for John were odd, but everything at the Institute is a bit. The corridors fit together strangely, time skips by in bunching leaps, or crawls like the creeping tide. Occasionally worms attack and people die. So an unsettlingly intense crush isn’t even really worthy of comment. 

But the more used to the other strangenesses of the Institute Martin becomes, the more obvious it is that the place has inserted itself into every aspect of his life. It makes sense that it would also extend to his love life, or lack thereof. 

First of all—he always knows where John is. Not so very remarkable, at first, because he’s almost always in the Archive or his office—but he always knows when he’s working late, or in early, or when he needs a cup of tea. Martin feels so _lost_ when John goes missing. His absence is a hole in Martin’s abdomen. A severed limb.

And there’s how he feels whenever John compliments him. Nothing effusive, just a simple, distracted _good work Martin_ gives him a hot kick of pleasure that he can coast on for days. And the reverse holds true—whenever John is cross with him, Martin can’t work, can’t think, until he’s done something to make it better. 

He’d chalk it up to anxiety and poor self esteem—both of which he has—but that also doesn’t fully explain this…this _reverence_. 

A few weeks after John returns to the Institute after his absence, Martin sits in the corner of a pub across from a man in a dark jumper and round glasses. Tim had forced him to download Tinder a few months ago (back when Tim still spoke to him) and it had just sat there on his phone, accusatory, until last week he opened it on a whim and started swiping through. 

The first man to message him had seemed to be an incredible stroke of luck. Older than him, but not too old, reserved but not off-putting, and handsome, but not enough that Martin felt self-conscious. They’re only half a pint in, the man laughing at some silly little thing Martin has said, when he realizes that his date is nothing more than an off-brand John. Except he doesn’t make Martin feel shivery hot when he looks at him. Even here, whatever strange force binds him to the Institute won’t let him go. 

They only make it through one drink before Martin makes stammering excuses and leaves, too overcome with awkward guilt to stay. He feels like he’s cheating on John, which is absolutely absurd. John doesn’t even know about Martin’s feelings. But try as he might, he can’t shake this overwhelming compulsion to stay close. 

What he really needs is an outside opinion, but who would he ask? What would he say? _Hi Melanie, hi Tim, rotten weather we’ve been having. Out of curiosity, are either of you completely obsessed with our boss?_

\--

“Martin? Are you alright? Martin?” 

Martin snaps back to himself. His eyes and his mind have been straying to John. He’ll be wanting his tea soon. He realizes that Elias must have been standing here for quite a long time, watching him daydream. 

“Yes, yes, fine! Thanks, thanks for—.” He remembers, belatedly, that Elias is not his friend. 

In his elegant black coat and scarf, he looks like a villain in a film. He must have decided to lean into the role. “You’re just about done for the day, aren’t you? Care for a lift?” 

Martin is at a loss. Elias barely speaks to him, let alone offers to drive him home. 

“You drive? In central London?” 

Elias smiles and shrugs. 

“I’m—I’m not sure that would be the greatest idea,” Martin says slowly. The thought of being closed up inside a car with Elias, smelling his strange cologne and knowing what he is…”It’s just…I was about to make a cup of tea.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure John can get by without you for an evening.” 

Martin colors. “I—I—you—.” 

“What reason would I have to hurt you, Martin? As I’ve said before, we’re on the same side.” 

“You killed Gertrude!” 

Something cold and blank slides into Elias’s eyes. Martin has to force himself not to comically slap a hand over his own mouth. 

“She threatened the Archive,” Elias says. “And that was unacceptable. You would never do anything to hurt us, though, would you? You would never do anything to hurt John?” 

Panic ripples up from the pit of Martin’s stomach and he lists to the side, catching himself on the edge of the table. Elias makes no move to help him. 

“What’s happening to me?” Martin whispers it when he can breathe again. 

The pressure of Elias’s fingers on his shoulders feels strange. Invasive, somehow, like he’s pushing his hand into him. Not painful, but not pleasant either. 

“Come with me and I’ll explain,” Elias says. 

\--

Traffic isn’t at its peak, but it is still slow-going. After a few blocks it starts to rain, adding to Martin’s impression of being locked in a small box with something fanged and hungry. 

“I can’t remember the last time I was in a car. I only ever take the tube, and I don’t have the money for a cab, usually.” 

“If you have issues with your salary, bring it up at your next performance review.” 

“I didn’t mean—,” Martin stammers, even as he berates himself for apologizing to this monster. 

“It was a joke,” Elias hits the turn signal and puts the car smoothly into gear. “Calm down. I don’t bite.” 

Martin smoothes his palms on his trousers, trying not to let the fact that he’s wiping off sweat seem too obvious. “No offense, but even if you weren’t the servant of some all-powerful seeing god, it would still be a bit weird to have my boss’s boss drive me home.” 

The car pauses at another stoplight. Martin regulates his breaths. “The others—the same thing isn’t happening to them.” 

“Same thing’? In regards to what, exactly?” 

“To John. This thing with John.” Martin knows that being teased is better than being killed, but he thinks he’d rather have another go with the monster in the maze than have this conversation with Elias. “I’m. I’m very _aware_ of John.” 

Elias nods slowly. Martin had been expecting more of that blithely mocking professional smile, but he seems genuinely interested.

“It’s like—it’s like I can sense his moods, and not—not like being particularly empathetic or anything, in fact I often have a hard time telling what people are thinking, or—.” He hears his voice beginning to shake. “It’s not a crush, okay. I’ve had crushes on bosses before, and it’s nothing like this. This is—this—.” He can’t quite bring himself to say the word _worship_, but it’s there. Like John is some creature on a different plain, and Martin doesn’t know how to relate to him, or escape. __

_ _“You’re his assistant, Martin. It’s laudable that you are so devoted to him. He’s lucky to—.” _ _

_ _“With all due respect, sir, that’s—that’s bullshit. It’s not natural, nothing around here is natural, and if it just has to do with being his assistant, then why isn’t it affecting the others in the same way?” _ _

_ _“Are you sure it isn’t?” _ _

_ _Elias spends most of his time shut away from the rest of them, but he does see everything that happens in the Institute, doesn’t he? Maybe interpersonal relationships just don’t rate high enough to pay attention to. _ _

_ _“Are you joking? Tim—Time _hates_ John, Melanie barely tolerates him, and Basira, well, they might be on good terms but I’d hardly call them friends.” _ _

_ _“Loyalty manifests in different ways for different people.” Elias switches through channels on the radio, settling on news and turning the volume down to a murmur. “For you, it seems to manifest in devotion.” _ _

_ _“Lucky me,” Martin mutters. _ _

_ _“Isn’t that better than being angry all the time? Better for the blood pressure, at any rate.” _ _

_ _“I suppose.” Martin allows, although he doesn’t believe for a moment that Elias gives a damn about his blood pressure. All of them are expendable. Well, all of them except for John. _ _

_ _That’s when it occurs to him that Elias has failed to ask him where he lives. He wouldn’t put it past him to know all of their addresses by heart, but they aren’t anywhere near Martin’s neighborhood. In fact—he has no idea where they are. He tries to hide his fear, but he’s no good at concealing his emotions at the best of times. His breathing elevates and his hands shake. _ _

_ _“Relax, Martin. If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you at the Institute. I’m at my best there.” _ _

_ _Martin snorts, hysteria pushing at the inside of his chest. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”_ _

_ _Elias looks at him sidelong, a passing streetlight highlighting his jaw and nose. “Yes. Look, we’re here.” _ _

_ _“Here? We aren’t—.” Martin looks out the window. Disorientation crashes over him. “No, wait, we were just on a high street, this isn’t—.” _ _

_ _The car is pulled up to the curb outside a tall white-fronted block of flats. Well-kept shrubs and beds of pansies border the sidewalk. It doesn’t look like London, but it also doesn’t _not_ look like London. The street is empty and very clean, and although it is dark, it is a strange, enclosed darkness. Simulated, like night on a soundstage._ _

_ _Elias lets the car idle. He looks at Martin. A true look, instead of a passing, dismissive glance. It makes Martin’s stomach flip over. _ _

_ _“Where are we?” _ _

_ _“Don’t worry,” Elias says, which is no kind of answer. Elias doesn’t give out information unless he absolutely has to. “I’m just thinking.” _ _

_ _“Thinking about what?” _ _

_ _“About your situation with John. Because you’re right. This isn’t ideal. A healthy attachment can be good for camaraderie, but you seem to have been hit particularly hard.” _ _

_ _What he doesn’t say, what Martin reads between the lines, is that this attachment is by design. It’s because of the Institute. He was right. _ _

_ _“There are ways to break your dependence on him, but they are rather complex. Most would require you to have far more knowledge than you do currently, and more than is safe for you to have.” He takes off his gloves a finger at a time. “The easiest solution would be to take the debt on for you.”_ _

_ _Martin blinks. “Why—why would you do that?” _ _

_ _Elias smiles that unsettling smile. He is a man with a secret. He is a man with every secret. _ _

_ _“I can’t pay you,” Martin says. “I don’t have much money, I mean, I have some, obviously, but not enough--.” _ _

_ _“Not enough for a cab?”_ _

_ _“What?” Martin recognizes another joke. “O-oh.” _ _

_ _“Money isn’t—.” Elias folds his hands in his lap. His fingers are long and pale. “Money isn’t interesting or useful in this situation. These powers don’t understand symbolic forms of exchange. They understand sacrifice, pain, pleasure, fear. Which is why—.” Elias takes his keys out of the ignition, “I brought you here. I am the boss, so no one could write me up for fucking you at the Institute, but it would be a bit messy, I think.” _ _

_ _“At the—.” Elias’s words cram together in Martin’s brain, spinning around and around until finally they slow down enough to form a coherent picture. He flushes hot all over. Even the backs of his hands are burning. _ _

_ _“You—you want to—.” _ _

_ _Elias raises his eyebrows, as if Martin is the one making something out of nothing. _ _

_ _“I figured it would be the simplest way, one with relatively little fuss and little pain, depending.” _ _

_ _Martin clears his throat several times. “Depending?” _ _

_ _“On your preferences.” Elias opens the door and steps out onto the strange, silent street. “Let’s continue this conversation inside, shall we? This place is neutral, but I’d rather not be out in the open if we don’t have to be.” _ _

_ _Martin takes a steadying breath. It would be foolish to follow Elias, but he doesn’t have a driving license, and he doesn’t know where he is. It would be more foolish to be alone. So he follows. _ _

_ _Outside it is neither warm nor cold; it feels like a dream of a place, rather than a place in itself. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on alternate realities, because he’s too busy dealing with the one in which Elias Bouchard, Director of the Magnus Institute, certified avatar of an all-seeing god, has just invited him up to his flat for sex. _ _

_ _Martin has never thought of him as anything more than upper management, and recently, evil upper management. Until the past few weeks Martin would have called it a toss-up as to whether Elias even knew his name. He’s older than him, distant, and—well, Martin’s been focused on John, and on staying alive, more recently. But Elias is…well, he’s handsome, isn’t he? Elegant and steady, eyes an almost unnerving black, hair just ruffled enough to look touchable._ _

_ _Elias leads him through the silent lobby and into a silent elevator. They don’t speak. It’s not as though Elias is ignoring him—he simply has nothing to say. Elias’s flat is on the top floor, which doesn’t surprise Martin at all. It’s nice, if a bit posh for Martin’s tastes, large and dark and full of leather and brass. It suits Elias, so well that Martin wonders if it’s…a part of him, somehow. Or--more accurately--if they are both part of the same thing. _ _

_ _“Please make yourself at home,” Elias says, taking Martin’s coat. When he returns from hanging it up, Martin still hasn’t managed to move. _ _

_ _“I thought we were going to—.” _ _

_ _“I’m hardly going to bend you over in the front hall. Do you drink? What do like?” _ _

_ _“I—.” Martin’s voice cracks. Those words in Elias’s rich voice makes his heartbeat speed up. “Yes? I mean. Anything.” _ _

_ _Heavy wooden bookshelves line the walls and there is no television, unsurprisingly. Martin perches awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, watching as Elias pours two glasses of scotch and loosens his tie; something strikes low and hot in Martin’s stomach. When he hands Martin his glass, their fingers brush. He’s sure Elias does it on purpose. He knows he’s affecting Martin, and…he likes it. His cheeks are flushed and his pupils are dilated. _ _

_ _Martin takes an overlarge sip of scotch, but manages not to sputter. He can’t tell whether or not it’s good. _ _

_ _“Alright.” Elias sits down on the armchair across from him. Martin can’t decide if he’s relieved or disappointed that he didn’t sit closer. “Terms. You’re doing this of your own free will, and shall accept the consequences of your choices. Once the ritual begins, it cannot be stopped until its completion. That said, I am not unreasonable, so if there are any particular acts you are vehemently opposed to, we can discuss it.” _ _

_ _“Right. Okay. Uh.” Martin takes another swallow of scotch and tries to think past the fugue of unreality blanketing him. He has to negotiate—Elias is giving him that chance. “You—you said that sex is only one of the options. What are the others?”_ _

_ _Elias takes a sip of his own whisky and lets the glass dangle easily from his fingers. “There’s pain, of course.” _ _

_ _“Of course,” Martin echoes. _ _

_ _“Fear, loss. These sorts of entities deal in the most basic of drives. Feeding, killing, fucking. I figured sex would be the easiest and most familiar, but if you’d rather—.” _ _

_ _“No, sex—sex is fine,” Martin says, feeling like he’s agreeing to a slightly overpriced special on a menu. “And this will, will stop me from being so connected to Jon that I can’t sleep at night?” _ _

_ _“Yes.” _ _

_ _“I...I won’t...it won’t just transfer to you, will it?” Martin can’t imagine feeling for Elias the way he feels for John, but before recently he’d never pictured hiding in his flat from a woman riddled with worms, either. _ _

_ _Elias’s scrutiny only grows more intense. “I am far better at controlling the ambient effects of my abilities than John is.” _ _

_ _“That--.” Martin swallows. “That isn’t a no.” _ _

_ _“No,” Elias agrees. “It’s not.” _ _

_ _Martin closes his eyes. On the one hand, this will give Elias power over him. On the other, Elias already _has_ power over him--over all of them. They will literally die if anything happens to Elias. And with how things currently stand, Martin will also probably die if anything happens to John. _ _

_ _As soon as he decides, Elias is on top of him. Between one blink and the next. He unbuttons Martin’s shirt, kissing him without any hesitation. Not that he thought Elias would hesitate, or be put off by the idea of another man. He just seems…beyond all that, honestly. He pushes Martin’s shirt off his shoulders, hands moving over his chest. There is something unmistakably covetous in his touch, as if Martin has something under his skin that he is hungry for. _ _

_ _He puts his fingers in Martin’s hair and tugs, making him squeak. Abruptly, Elias sits back upright, mouth moist and pink. “Go into the second bedroom on the right,” he tells him. “And take of your clothes.” _ _

_ _Martin exhales shakily and does what he’s told. Somehow, he knows that his choice to disobey has been rescinded, just like his ability to leave the Archive. This time, at least, he had an idea of what he was getting into. His hands still shake when he unfastens his trousers and pushes them down. Knowledge increases your likelihood of survival, but it also teaches you how to be afraid. _ _

_ _He hears movement in the corridor and hurries onto the bed, not wanting Elias to come in with his orders only halfway followed. Elias’s shadow spills out in front of him, even though the light isn’t behind him. He’s removed his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He looks human, and at the same time so absolutely alien that Martin doesn’t know how he could ever have thought he was a normal man. Martin is profoundly, utterly aware that he is being observed, that Elias sees all of him. He twitches for the edge of the duvet. _ _

_ _“Don’t,” says Elias, and Martin stops. He clenches his hands into fists and tells himself not to panic. He agreed to this. He made the deal. _ _

_ _“Are you—.” He swallows. “Are you just going to watch?” He tries for coy and fails utterly. _ _

_ _Elias makes no sound when he walks. “I don’t need to watch, Martin. I’ve already seen.” _ _

_ _Martin doesn’t understand, and then he does. Ice cascades into his stomach, spreading visceral panic through his bloodstream. _ _

_ _“You—how much—!” _ _

_ _“Not nearly as well as I can see John, but when anyone conscripted to the Institute is inside it, they are under my purview of observer.” His teeth are very white in the darkness. “And you were there for months.” _ _

_ _Martin swears. True, being on the lamb from a woman full of worms isn’t the most conducive to…amorous longings, but like Elias said—he’d been there for months. _ _

_ _“So you…what? Just—just sat there and watched?” _ _

_ _“Often, yes.” _ _

_ _Martin buries his face in his hands. Elias doesn’t tell him it’s alright, or not to worry, that it’s completely natural. He wants him to be embarrassed, Martin realizes. The Eye feeds off the brutal repulsion of being watched, sucking down his humiliation like liquor._ _

_ _And, Martin is horrified to discover, it’s making him hard. _ _

_ _He’s not like this—he doesn’t get into this sort of stuff. He likes to feel appreciated and respected by the people he sleeps with. Or at least he thought he did. _ _

_ _“Does the Eye, you, whoever is watching us—is that what it’s into? Just watching people do stuff that’s meant to be private?” _ _

_ _“The Beholding cares about knowledge, Martin. It wants to _know_. Everything. Especially hidden things. How you touch yourself when you’re alone, what you think about that you would be ashamed to repeat.” Elias runs his hands up Martin’s legs, squeezing his thighs. His hands feel larger than they look. _ _

_ _“Have you been with men before?” _ _

_ _Martin grits his teeth. “Yes.” _ _

_ _“Tell me.” _ _

_ _“The Eye wants me to talk dirty to it?” _ _

_ _“The Eye doesn’t care how you say it.” Elias’s teeth graze his throat. “But I do.” _ _

_ _Martin’s mouth is very dry. “I’ve—I’ve been with men before, yes, but—ah!” Elias buries his face in Martin’s neck and bites down—it isn’t gentle. “It's been a long time, and I don't often--I'm not--usually the one getting fucked." _ _

_ _“Hmm.” It’s dark, but Martin still can’t help feeling he is on display, like he’s lying in the center of a crowded amphitheater, a sacrifice to a many-eyed monster. “But it's different when you're alone. In my Institute, under cover of darkness. Legs spread, fingers inside. You moved like you were desperate for it.” _ _

_ _Martin’s cock throbs and his face burns. If Elias keeps talking like this, the ritual is going to be over before it even begins. _ _

_ _“Oh, it’s already begun. It began the moment you followed me into my domain.” Two slick fingers sink into Martin, no warning, no easing him into it. Martin’s thighs tremble and he lets out an embarrassingly needy noise. _ _

_ _Elias is relentless. He finds Martin’s prostate and rubs until he’s gasping and trying to escape further up the bed; Elias doesn’t let him. He wraps his arms around his thighs and holds him still. Martin is trapped. The watcher, Beholding’s most powerful avatar has him at his mercy. And he has too many eyes. _ _

_ _When Martin reaches for his cock, Elias smacks his hand away. “I didn’t say you could do that.” _ _

_ _His voice sounds like it’s coming from the walls and the ceiling and not just from his mouth. In fact, his mouth doesn’t appear to be moving at all. _ _

_ _“I don’t think—.” Martin’s hand flexes and his thighs twitch. He’s so hard he’s throbbing. “I can’t—.” _ _

_ _“I think you can,” Elias says, and continues to work him over with a terrifying focus. Every time Martin’s hand twitches toward his cock, Elias orders him away, until tears form in the corners of his eyes and he loses track of exactly how long he’s been here._ _

_ _When Elias finally does roll him over and fuck him, he barely notices the change. He thinks distantly that this isn’t normal. He isn’t promiscuous by really any stretch of the definition, but he has had enough sex to know it shouldn’t leave you in a fugue state without some other substance involved. Maybe Elias spiked his drink. Or maybe getting fucked by an eldritch horror does something to one’s sense of equilibrium. _ _

_ _His vision fades, all his nerves unraveled and laid out. Elias doesn’t slow down. In fact, Martin is having a hard time figuring out where his body ends and Elias’s begins, as if they’ve slid into one another in, well, more than the obvious way. But perhaps it’s more accurate to say Martin feels...assimilated. Enveloped. Like his body has been subsumed into something so huge and all-consuming that at any moment he’ll realize that he no longer exists, that his consciousness is just a distant, fading echo on the edge of being snuffed out. _ _

_ _And all the while he feels the weight of the Beholding pressing down on him. That terrifying and thrilling knowledge that something formless and ancient is watching him shatter. _ _

_ _He comes and it’s like a balloon popping in his mind, bursting and imploding, falling inward. Elias is there with him, murmuring in his ear, telling him secrets that he’s sure he won’t remember when he comes back to himself. If he ever comes back to himself. _ _

_ _He does. Consciousness returns to him in slow waves, and Martin finds himself undressed and in his own bed. His shoes are in the same place he leaves them every evening, his coat hung on the rack, messenger bag spread out on the kitchen table he never uses. He’d perhaps try to write the encounter off as a dream of an undersexed and overtired mind, except for the dark bruises on his neck in the uncanny shapes of open eyes. His own eyes seem unusually dark and large, and his body is alight with the unmistakable ache of having been fucked within an inch of his life. It’s not pain, precisely, but it is impossible to ignore. _ _

_ _Then there’s the handwritten note he finds beside the teapot. _ _

_ _ _Sleep it off. I’ll see you tonight. _ _ _

_ _ _-Elias _ _ _

_ _Martin reads it, then reads it over again. He checks the back, just to see. Is...Elias giving him the day off? Is that what this means? Does he honestly expect him to just lie around all day with everything that’s going on? _ _

_ _...Is the thought he has, before it slides cleanly into how pleasant it would be to go back to bed. Or take a long bath. Read a book. Anything but get dressed and head to the Institute. But then again...he really should check on John. He should check on how he _feels_ about John. But, also...he is very tired. And he doesn’t want to have to wear a turtleneck to cover up the marks on his neck. _ _

_ _What he really needs is a coffee, Martin decides. _ _

_ _He gets one arm of his jacket on, and realizes he can’t get the other. He hangs his coat back up. Fine. He doesn’t need a coat; it’s not even that cold. But then he gets caught at the door, reading the addresses on the stack of mail over and over again. _ _

_ _He stomps back into his room and yanks the phone off the charger, where someone had thoughtfully plugged it in last night. With fingers shaking from fear and anger both, he dials the number for the Institute. Then he punches in an extension before Rosie has the chance to pick up. _ _

_ _“Bouchard.” Elias’s voice is clipped and professional. A little thrill drives its way into Martin’s stomach, even as the marks on his neck flare with pain. _ _

_ _“I can’t leave my flat.” _ _

_ _“There’s no need for you to. I told you to take the day.” _ _

_ _“I--.” Martin, who was expecting denials, is momentarily at a loss at how to proceed. “You said you had better control of it than John and--and John never erased my free will!” _ _

_ _“You never gave yourself over to John in a carnal ritual.” Martin hears the clack of a keyboard in the background, as if this conversation does not even rate high enough for Elias to pause answering emails. “And I said I have better control, yes. I didn’t say what I would do with that control.” _ _

_ _“That--you--.” Martin takes several deep breaths. Elias waits. “So you--you’re just going to keep me trapped here?” _ _

_ _“You’re an old hand at that, aren’t you?” _ _

_ _“What!” _ _

_ _“Martin, I’m joking. It’s just important that you’re out of the office today. And that you get some rest.” _ _

_ _“What--.” Martin swallows down his rising panic, because that’s exactly what the bastard wants. “What if I get hungry? I don’t even have coffee!” _ _

_ _“Get something delivered. Whatever you’d like. Charge it to the Institute. As I said, I’ll see you this evening.” For the first time in the conversation, he sounds focused, sharp. “I think you’ll find, Martin, that I am much better at taking care of my things than John has been. Goodbye.” _ _

_ _Martin swallows. “Oh--good--.” He is left speaking to a dead line, alone in his flat. Well. Except for that persistent weight, that knowledge he might be on his own, but he is never alone._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then martin ends up with an evil sugar daddy, or something.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for all the incredible comments. i wrote a little addendum.

_Recording of an altercation between Elias Bouchard and the Archivist, approximately 9:30 am. The Magnus Institute, London._

Good morning, John. You’re looking a bit—

Oh, save it. Where is Martin? 

Have you checked the break room? 

I’ve checked everywhere. He isn’t here, he isn’t answering his phone. Where is he? 

How should I know, John? He’s your assistant. 

Tim said he saw him leave with you yesterday. Apparently you were “giving him a lift”. 

Oh well. I suspected you wouldn’t notice his absence for at least another 30 minutes, when you started wanting your tea. I gave Martin the day off. Nothing to worry about. 

Is he…ill? 

No. In fact, I suspect he is feeling remarkably well. Better than he has in a long while. 

You—you did something to him. I know it. I can _feel_ it. I could feel it the moment I woke up this morning. I feel like I’ve—

Lost him. Yes. You have. 

Lost him? I don’t—

Yes, you do. All of your assistants. They support you, and in return you give them something they need. Tim needs an outlet for his hatred. Melanie needs something to run from. An enemy. Basira needs to do the right thing. Martin—Martin wanted something you weren’t equipped to give. 

Equipped? I’m not—

Pardon me, poor choice of words. You aren’t willing to offer him what he wants. 

What—sex? 

Yes. Among other things. 

What things? 

Really, John. You could know if you wanted to. Honestly, he’ll be fine. 

As long as he obeys your every whim. 

I’m not a sadist, John. 

But you are a liar. Is this why Gertrude didn’t have assistants? To keep them from you? 

Gertrude didn’t have assistants because she fed them to the Entities like rats to a python. She understood how the game is played. 

And you killed her for it. 

I said she knew how to play, I didn’t say she won. I suggest you apply yourself to learning the rules. 

If you’ve hurt him, I swear—

Oh, I haven’t. I might. Perhaps tonight. 

You are a monster. 

So are you. I’m just much better at it.


End file.
